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It is the action that defines us.
You can not.
The sky as the sun descended burned red and blue, blending seamlessly into the twilight before nightfall. Its doomed light shone through the window, carving the immovable boundary between luminance and shadow upon the wooden floor. There are some boundaries that must be crossed, I thought. There is a boundary between what I know to be wrong and what my mind tells me is inescapable. If the whole of my being compels me toward an action, can that feeling not bring validity to atrocity? It is the action that defines us. The sun will not rise tomorrow, I thought as I rose from my seat.
You must not.
Swiftly and quietly moving toward the entrance of the house I heard the angelic softness of Ariana's voice emerging from her room. The song of her mother, I thought, nothing more than the song of a woman I will never know. No more meaningful than the chirping of birds or the braying of a donkey. In her mind I am nothing more than an aberration, I convinced myself, a vagrant curiosity whose deficiency has elicited nothing but ceaseless turmoil. I disposed of all thoughts of Ariana and her mother's song as I stepped from the house into the gentle breeze of early dusk.
No.
The old man sat in the shadows on the leveled stump before the entrance of the house, his head raised as if seeking the answer to some unknown question from the heavens. Have I even once looked at this man, I thought, have I once looked at the man who gave me my name? Have I noticed the solitary blotch of brown remaining just above the chin on his otherwise pure white beard? Have I looked at the man's face? It does not matter, I thought as I cautiously approached Benedictus, my right arm dangling limply at my side, loosely clutching the knife that I had seized from the kitchen. It is the action that defines us, I thought.
"Is that you Joshua?" Benedictus said as I stepped into the darkness directly behind him. Not replying, I gripped the knife tightly, raising it slowly above my head before savagely plunging it downward. The blind man emitted a frantic cry of pain and surprise. His body involuntarily arced backwards and became rigid before he collapsed upon the tree stump. I removed the knife and felt my stomach churn and rise as I watched him unsuccessfully attempt to lift his body. He again fell, sprawling awkwardly face down on the stump. His breath came in hurried, coughing gasps.
"We are all blind, my son." Benedictus wheezed and sputtered his final words stilly with anguished difficulty. His eyes remained open but unseeing, transfixed on some distant and unattainable infiniteness. "It is God who should have asked your forgiveness."
You are a beast.
With thunder in my head I turned slowly from the stump as Ariana bolted from the doorway. Oblivious to the excruciating shriek she let out, I began to follow the path that descended from the house.
To obtain all that you have ever wanted, I thought, all that you have fought to achieve, to be conscious of the toll its attainment has taken on both yourself and others, and to forsake it knowingly and by your own actions. Such truly is an unforgivable sin. Indeed, one worthy of being struck blind for. It is the action that defines us, I thought, raising the knife toward my eyes.
